A CONVERSATION
THE TOILER
Why dost thou bother us? What dost thou want? Thou art not one of us....
Go away!
THE LAZY MAN[71]
I am one of you, brethren!
THE TOILER
Nothing of the sort; thou art not one of us! What an invention! Just look at my hands. Dost thou see how dirty they are? And they stink of dung, and tar,--while thy hands are white. And of what do they smell?
THE LAZY MAN--_offering his hands_
Smell.
THE TOILER--_smelling the hands_
What"s this? They seem to give off an odour of iron.
THE LAZY MAN
Iron it is. For the last six years I have worn fetters on them.
THE TOILER
And what was that for?
THE LAZY MAN
Because I was striving for your welfare, I wanted to liberate you, the coa.r.s.e, uneducated people; I rebelled against your oppressors, I mutinied.... Well, and so they put me in prison.
THE TOILER
They put you in prison? It served you right for rebelling!
_Two Years Later_
THE SAME TOILER TO ANOTHER TOILER
Hearken, Piotra!... Dost remember one of those white-handed lazy men was talking to thee the summer before last?
THE OTHER TOILER
I remember.... What of it?
FIRST TOILER
They"re going to hang him to-day, I hear; that"s the order which has been issued.
SECOND TOILER
Has he kept on rebelling?
FIRST TOILER
He has.
SECOND TOILER
Yes.... Well, see here, brother Mitry: can"t we get hold of a bit of that rope with which they are going to hang him? Folks say that that brings the greatest good luck to a house.
FIRST TOILER
Thou"rt right about that. We must try, brother Piotra.
April, 1878.
THE ROSE
The last days of August.... Autumn had already come.
The sun had set. A sudden, violent rain, without thunder and without lightning, had just swooped down upon our broad plain.
The garden in front of the house burned and smoked, all flooded with the heat of sunset and the deluge of rain.
She was sitting at a table in the drawing-room and staring with stubborn thoughtfulness into the garden, through the half-open door.
I knew what was going on then in her soul. I knew that after a brief though anguished conflict, she would that same instant yield to the feeling which she could no longer control.
Suddenly she rose, walked out briskly into the garden and disappeared.
One hour struck ... then another; she did not return.
Then I rose, and emerging from the house, I bent my steps to the alley down which--I had no doubt as to that--she had gone.
Everything had grown dark round about; night had already descended. But on the damp sand of the path, gleaming scarlet amid the encircling gloom, a rounded object was visible.
I bent down. It was a young, barely-budded rose. Two hours before I had seen that same rose on her breast.
I carefully picked up the flower which had fallen in the mire, and returning to the drawing-room, I laid it on the table, in front of her arm-chair.